


christmas spirit, or the lack of

by clayisforgirls



Category: Tennis RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-20
Updated: 2015-07-20
Packaged: 2018-04-10 07:31:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4382831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clayisforgirls/pseuds/clayisforgirls
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"it's Christmas, Marat, you should at least have something fun and festive"</p><p>Originally posted in December 2006.</p>
            </blockquote>





	christmas spirit, or the lack of

He can't quite stop smiling from the airport to his home, despite the fact that he's cramped into the back of the first cab he could get, racquet bag squashed next to him because it wouldn't fit in the trunk and yet, he can't bring himself to care. Really, he hasn't cared about anything bad for days, not after becoming the hero for the Russians, after what ended up being a perfect end to a shitty year.

If he moved his hand three inches to the left, he'd be able to feel the cool metal of the trophy, but he doesn't. It's hidden in his bags, partly because it's easier to carry like that, but mostly because he doesn't want the man who he knows is waiting for him back in his tiny apartment to see.

Not that Andy won't be happy for him, at least, he doesn't think that Andy's quite as bitter as some of his past lovers, but it's something that they don't speak about, both equally passionate about playing for their countries but the fact that he actually had to beat Andy to get to the final still stings, a little for him, but he'd guess it was a lot more for the American. He'd seen the disappointment in his eyes after the match, had witnessed his reaction and it wasn't fun the first time. Marat isn't looking to go through that again.

At least not today, because for the next few days, he knows that absolutely nothing will dampen his mood. Not the bad weather, not the traffic, not the fact that his apartment is really too small for both him and Andy, or the fact that neither of them can cook a decent meal to save their lives. Though he dreads to think what state his apartment will be in, because knowing Andy, he won't have cleaned a thing for two weeks.

It's too long for his liking before he sees his apartment building, and though usually he'd be muttering under his breath by now – in Russian, so the driver wouldn't understand him – he's a little calmer than usual today. Not serene, but calmer, there's still the itching to be out of here and under a hot shower, and to collapse on his couch and do nothing for the next two weeks. Preferably with Andy running after him, but he doubts the blonde would go for that, and would probably pout and whine if he even suggested such a thing.

But, he realises, as he drags his cases out of the car and into the apartment block, he's glad to have Andy here. It'd taken three weeks of begging to get him to leave Texas, and several hours of hearing how he'd never spent Christmas without his family, before the American had agreed to come over for a week before flying halfway around the world to train.

There's a smile on his face as he unlocks his door, happy that he's seeing Andy after what seems like months and, if he thinks about it, probably is, just phone calls and that one webcam episode which went badly wrong, and as he's half-heartedly pulling his suitcases behind him, wondering where Andy is, he stops.

Because it looks like he's walked into the Christmas section of a department store, there isn't one part of his apartment that hasn't been covered with lights or tinsel and there's even a small tree in one corner, and how Andy even got that in here he'll never know. And while he's staring at the carnage, completely horrified, Andy appears from behind him, and there's a familiar, warm embrace, a kiss pressed to the back of his neck, and he tries shutting his eyes, hoping the lights and the rest of the decorations are just a horrible dream.

When he opens them again, he finds they're just as real as his lover.

"Congratulations," is murmured in his ear, "you had me nervous, you know, but-"

"What did you do to my apartment?" he interrupts, because now isn't the time to discuss tennis, not when his home is covered in garish novelty items, including a Santa Claus, and god, he hopes it doesn't sing like the one that Dima was taunting him with. Otherwise he'd have to kill Andy.

"I just decorated it, it's Christmas, Marat, you should at least have something fun and festive," Andy says, and there's an unmistakable smile in his voice and it melts his resistance a tiny bit because he loves Andy being happy, and there's no denying the fact that Andy loves Christmas. His horrible decorating is proof enough of that, but there's haphazardly wrapped presents under the tree that definitely weren't there before he left, glitter sprinkled on his table that he knows is probably leftover from the handmade card Andy had joked about giving him. 

But there's still the fact that he hates Christmas, has never celebrated it with his parents, and as he'd gotten older, became sick and tired of the constant advertising, the decorations in the shops, the over-exposure and commercialisation of the holiday that was meant to be about religion and faith, not about the amount of gifts you receive.

"Take it down," he mutters, slipping out of Andy's embrace as he dumps his suitcases inside his bedroom, passing a stunned Andy on his way to the kitchen, not even bothering to ask him if he wanted a coffee because he knows the answer already. It's when he's done, pouring milk into Andy's carefully because the American is picky, won't drink it if there's too much, that he realises Andy isn't hovering behind him as usual, and he turns to see him standing in the doorway.

"I'm not taking it down," he says, calmly, taking a site towards Marat carefully and grabbing the coffee out of his hands, taking a sip before he carries on, "I'm here. And I like Christmas, I'm not some kind of Scrooge like you."

"I'm not a Scrooge," Marat almost growls, fingers gripping the mug so hard he's sure it'll break but it doesn't, and he puts it down on the counter, not wanting to clean up the mess on top of the Christmas fiasco that's invaded his apartment. "I just don't celebrate Christmas."

"And I do. So just put up with it for a week and when I'm gone, you can take it down." It almost seems like Andy's the voice of reason, just for once, and he knows it makes sense. "Please, Marat. For me."

He pauses, knows that he either has the choice of letting Andy get his own way and have no whining from him, or fight for what he wants. And he's in a bad mood, and usually that would mean fighting for his own way no matter what, but this time, it's different. This time, if he resists, he risks Andy walking out – which he's sure the American would do – because he's the only person Marat has ever met that's actually more stubborn than Dinara when she's in a mood. More persistent too, and he doesn't want their only week alone for months to be spoilt by an argument over fairy lights, of all things.

"Please?" he hears Andy repeat, so quietly he almost doesn't hear it but there's so much hope in that one word that he can't bear to say no. Not when he looks Andy over, not when he's biting his lip, shifting from foot to foot, looking the most uncomfortable Marat's ever seen him. "I just… I didn't think you hated Christmas, Marat, I'm sorry, I'll take them down, I-"

"Andy, stop," and amazingly, Andy does stop, turning in an instant, mug of coffee in hand and Andy's so clumsy Marat was sure it was going to spill but it doesn't. "Keep them up, at least, until you leave" he mutters, looking at the floor because Andy's reaction might be a little too much for him, but he can picture it all perfectly, the sparkling eyes and the goofy smile.

And in moments he's crushed in a hug, strong arms around his shoulders, a face buried in his neck and he always forgets that Andy's shorter than him, never seems it until they're this close. There's a muffled ‘thank you' murmured into his neck, a smile and a kiss pressed there too, and then Andy pulls back, coffee put down on the counter after he takes another sip, nothing hiding the raw emotion on his face.

"It's just not Christmas without the decorations, mom always let me and my brothers decorate the house at home when we were kids and-"

"Let me guess, it was just like this. A disaster," Marat jokes, and there's a slight glare from Andy before he breaks into a smile, taking a moment before he speaks again.

"Thanks. I, I'll make it up to you," Andy says softly, with that knowing smirk and a half lopsided grin, and Marat doesn't even get halfway through his thought that Andy better make it up to him before Andy's pressed against him, and he's being kissed the way Andy only knows how, hint of tongue, teeth biting down lightly on his lower lip. He can't quite resist Andy, not really, not when he's so eager about the whole thing, not when he's never seen Andy quite this happy, and really, who cares if doesn't celebrate Christmas, and his past several years of despising everything to do with it if his boyfriend is this happy.

That's something he doesn't want to think about just yet, and he pushes it to the side, grinning against Andy's lips as rough fingers scramble with the buttons of his jeans. And, he thinks as bitten fingernails lightly scrape over his hips, is pretty much the perfect way to celebrate a holiday he doesn't believe in.


End file.
